


i know you have a heavy heart (i can feel it when we kiss)

by itjustkindahappened



Series: i know you have a heavy heart [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, French!Harry, M/M, Sad!Louis, a dash of angst, florist!harry, harry is very passionate about flowers, i will never know how to tag stuff, larry au, larry stylinson - Freeform, literally so much fluff take care of your teeth, louis is emotional, mentions of smut but not an actual scene or anything, mentions of top!harry, my apologies, oh and also vulnerable!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:25:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itjustkindahappened/pseuds/itjustkindahappened
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Louis is spending New Year’s alone in France but he’s definitely not running away, and Harry is a french florist with an ever present smile who cares a lot. They meet a cold night in the outskirts of Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i know you have a heavy heart (i can feel it when we kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> I just really, really like french!harry, okay.  
> I don't care what y'all say, this was the best thing to write ever, I had so much fun. and I should also mention that I'm not french, so I'm sorry if there's any mistakes.  
> also vulnerable!louis always makes my heart plop down in my stomach.  
> edit: so I have now finally edited it about three months after posting it. hopefully I got everything and hopefully it's better now.  
> Btw, I'd love it if you all could go and follow me on my [tumblr](http://a-bit-extraordilarry.tumblr.com) kay thanks ily xx.
> 
> Title from "Lua" by Bright Eyes.
> 
>  
> 
> This is translated into  
> [polish](http://remember-only-god-can-judge-us.tumblr.com/paris)  
> [italian](http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=2648178&i=1.)  
> [finnish](http://www.wattpad.com/story/45447007-i-know-you-have-a-heavy-heart-in-finnish)  
>  :)

It’s December 30th in Paris. It’s dark and cold and the sky is covered in tiny little stars, and Louis is sitting on a park bench lit up by the dim light of a street lamp with his knitted scarf pulled up over his nose, and he is definitely not running away.

He isn’t. He swears. He just needs some variation, some time for himself, and he really felt like spending New Year’s in France, is all. Besides, he has read somewhere that you should never make a special tradition out of New Year’s Eve, because every year is different, and so should the end be, or something like that.

It had made sense at the time.

But, yeah. Louis isn’t running away.

Another icing wind sweeps past, causing him to shudder and he mentally scolds himself. He really didn't think this through, did he?

Louis still has the memory fresh in mind, can still recall it perfectly. He has the picture burned into the inside of his eyelids. That awful picture of Ryan and that other guy, half naked, moaning and laughing into each other’s mouths, tongues grossly swirling and disgustingly obvious tents in their pants rubbing together.

In their bed. In _his_ bed.

“Oh,” was all Louis had been able to get out, and Ryan’s eyes had widened and he had stumbled out of the bed, trying to apologize and coming with some half-assed “Lou, I can explain”.

His lips had been bruised and wet.

Louis had closed the door again before Ryan was even halfway across the room, rushing out of their flat.

So then there was the deep breathing, and the pushing back tears, and then there was the sudden, booked last-minute plane to France and the single text to Zayn, without any thoughts of possible consequences. 

And here he is now. Without even a hotel room to return to. Louis thanks God for remembering to change some money at the airport. At least he's not broke.

Soon, he realizes that if he doesn’t start walking soon, his bum will freeze to the bench, and he’d actually like to keep it (it is quite the boy magnet), so he raises from his seat and starts walking with shaky legs.

He passes a few shops and a café while walking. All of them seems closed, though. He’d guess he is somewhere in the outskirts of Paris, because everything is very quiet and dark and still. He kicks away a few pebbles on the pavement as he aimlessly keeps walking.

He almost misses the little flower shop as he walks with his head down, but stops just in time. It is bright in there, the shop window is filled with colorful flowers of all kinds.

Louis walks up to the door and opens it very carefully, bell jingling nicely over his head as he steps inside. And yes. It really is very, very lovely in here.

The wooden floor creaks under his feet as he walks around the high shelves filled with flowers. He breathes in the scent of them, sweet meeting bitter, soft meeting strong. The lighting is a bit dim at places, maybe, but it’s just adding to the comfortableness.

Then a deep voice is heard behind him, and Louis yelps and jumps about two shelves high.

“Excusez-moi, monsieur, le magasin est fermé…”

Louis has no idea what he’s saying, but swiftly turns around to face the person, and, oh.

It’s a boy. A very tall and lean and well-built boy, but still. There’s something childish over his features. His curly, brown hair is hanging over his green, wide eyes and they remind Louis of a fairytale forest (not that he's ever seen one of those, but he imagines that's what it'd look like). Dimples are clearly visible in his cheeks, caused by the apologetic smile on his full lips, his mouth a bit too big for his face. On his head rests a colorful flower crown. He doesn’t at all look like the owner of the voice Louis’d heard; raspy and deep.

The boy raises his eyebrow a little, and Louis realizes he’s been staring. His cheeks turn a light shade of red and he looks down on his feet. He has no idea what he should do now. He can’t speak French.

Curly sighs, and then opens his mouth to speak again. “Tu t’appelles comment?”

Louis' head perks up on that, though, because yes, he knows that one. Lottie takes French in school, this is one of the basic stuff.

“Je… m’appelle Louis?” he says hesitantly, hoping he’d said it right.

It seems like he did, because Curly smiles brightly and extends his hand.

“Je suis ‘Arry,” he says. Louis shakes his hands loosely, smiling a little in return. Harry.

“Harry,” he repeats. The name fits him. “Parl—parlez vouz… Anglais?”

Harry smirks. “Yes, I do.”

Louis feels his face getting hot again, and he thinks he really needs to stop blushing in front of pretty boys. “Great, I, uh, I don’t speak French very well. Or at all, really. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry tells him. “But I actually came to tell you we’re closed, so…”

“Oh.” They both looks at each other for a while, silence a bit awkward. “I just thought,” Louis continues after a while, “the door was open…”

“It’s okay,” Harry repeats. “I was just about to lock it… Did you, are you looking for something special?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, not really. I just like looking at the flowers, I guess. They’re pretty.”

“They are,” Harry agrees. “So, which one is your favorite?” he asks then.

His accent is quite… Endearing. It’s softening the edges of the words, making them sound beautiful, poetic even. Louis decides he likes it a lot.

“Well,” he pounders for a while, “I’m going to have to go with sunflowers. You know, the small and cute ones.”

Harry nods, eyes shining with interest. “ _Tournesol_ ,” he says as to confirm, and starts walking to the back of the shop. Louis follows after a few seconds.

“They mean ’admiration’.” Harry stops in front of one shelf and takes out a flowerpot, turning around so Louis can see. He holds it out to Louis, like a proud child showing an adult their newly drawn picture.

It’s sunflowers. Small and cute ones. Louis smiles. And, maybe he should excuse himself and get going because the shop is _closed_ after all, but. As long as Harry doesn't seem bothered he can't see any reason to leave. 

“What are your favorite flowers?” he asks then, and Harry’s smile turns even bigger and brighter and it's obvious he was hoping for Louis to ask that.

“Well, I do love roses,” he starts, putting down the sunflowers, taking Louis by the hand and drags him down to the front desk where a few red roses are standing in a vase. He picks one up and gives it to Louis. “ _Amour_ ,” he says, and yeah, Louis knows what that means.

“And I love lilacs, too,” Harry continues, dragging him to the big refrigerated glass showcase. “ _Beauté_.”

Harry's hands are warm, which is good because Louis doesn't have gloves.

Harry opens the glass door and picks out a few twigs of purple and white lilacs, handing them to Louis as well. He points at the purple ones, “Purple is ’first emotion of love,” and then at the white ones, “White is ’youthful innocence,” he explains. Louis just nods.

After adding two more types of flowers, white tulips (“ _Pardon_. Forgiveness”) and forget-me-nots (“ _Souvenirs_. Memories. 'Don’t forget me'.”), Harry pulls Louis back to the front desk and adds another rose.

“Two roses represents mutual love,” he tells Louis, and Louis doubts he’s ever seen something as beautiful as the genuine passion in his eyes.

Louis looks at the constellation of flowers in his hands. “This is a pretty cheesy bouquet,” he points out, and Harry laughs lowly. He watches his bouquet thoughtfully, biting his lip.

“Well, it’s not the best work I’ve done with the colors, but it’s beautiful. The message is beautiful.”

Louis inhales the scent, and it smells sweet and lovely. “It’s lovely,” he tells Harry.

Harry smiles at him again, dimples deepening so much Louis worries they will cut through his cheeks and start bleeding. He briefly thinks, ’ _does_ _he ever stop smiling?_ ’, as Harry takes the bouquet from him carefully, and disappears into a room behind the desk. He comes back out again with a white band tied around the flowers, holding them together.

“So... You’re like, a florist, then?” Louis asks.

Harry nods, sitting on the desk, gently picking at the flowers. “I’ve had this place for almost a year now. It’s very small, but I love it to death.”

“What’s there not to love?” Louis asks and Harry hums in agreement.

“So, Louis,” he says then. His name rolls so smoothly of off his tongue, goes so well with his French accent. Lou- _eeh_. Louis almost shivers. “Why are you spending New Year’s Eve in Paris?”

And just like that, the comfortable shiver feelings are gone.

Louis looks down on his feet and fidgets. “Well... I just needed to get away from home, I guess. I've got to find a motel, though, so I guess I’ll have to leave soon...”

“What, so you booked a trip from England to France without even fixing a place to sleep at?” Harry asks, completely ignoring his words, and Louis probably would’ve been insanely annoyed if Harry’s voice wasn’t filled with anything but pure curiousity.

“It’s complicated,” Louis murmurs. This conversation has suddenly become very uncomfortable on his part.

“So you’re running,” Harry states lightly, stroking the rose petals.

Louis narrows his eyes. “I’m not running from anything.”

“It feels like you do.”

“Well, I’m not.” Louis’ eyes moves up to the clock on the wall behind Harry. “It’s getting really late. I should probably go now, I really need to find a motel. It was very nice meeting you, Harry.”

He turns around and quickly aims for the door, but is stopped immediately by a steady grip on his wrist. He’s being pulled back and then he’s staring right into Harry’s pleading emerald green eyes, ever so intense.

“You’re running again, Louis. Please don’t.”

Louis’ eyelids flutter a bit and he swallows. This is all going way too fast for him. He tries desperately to gain control over the situation again, and he looks down on his hands. “No, really, Harry. I really, _really_ need to find a place to stay. I have to go.”

But a hand pulls his chin up again, forcing him to meet Harry’s eyes.

They just stand like that for a while, Harry’s gaze boring into Louis’, like he’s desperately trying to figure him out.

“Why are your eyes so sad, Louis?” he asks quietly.

The question is so unexpected and genuine and so incredibly _out there_ , and Louis feels his throat thicken. But he won’t cry now. He hasn’t cried yet, and he won’t. Especially not in front of Harry.

“I have to go,” he mutters one last time, completely ignoring the question, but Harry doesn’t let go.

“Please don’t,” he repeats softly. “You could... You could stay here if you want to. I have a guest room that’s never used. You don’t have to pay, you don’t have to go out in the dark and cold again, you don’t have to freeze to death and you don’t have to lie in some abandoned pile of snow somewhere.”

“Well that escalated quickly,” Louis mutters, but Harry just takes both his hands in his own (my God they’re _engulfing_ Louis') and looks at him with tired eyes.

“Please.”

Louis fidgets again. “Are you sure I won’t be, like, an inconvenience? I don’t want to bother you.”

Harry moves closer to him. “You will never be a bother. I really like your company.”

“Okay,” Louis sighs, knowing that it is the better option to stay here, since he has no idea where he is. “But I’ll buy like, fifty bouquets from you as a thank you later.”

Harry grins widely. “It’s a deal, then,” and Louis smiles, too at that.

Then Harry lets go of Louis’ hands to look for something in his pocket. He starts moving towards the door and soon a little click is heard as he locks it.

He comes back a few seconds later, and Louis watches as he turns the lights off. Harry is back holding Louis’ hands in no time, and with a soft smile he leads him up some old stairs and through a door.

Harry’s flat kind of gives Louis the same vibes as downstairs in the shop. Old and cozy and personal. Same wooden floor, covered by a few rugs in earthy colors in the hallway. The living room has purple and olive green painted walls and a small two seat sofa in leather is pushed up against the wall under three big windows. The curtains are simple, black and white stripes, which fits in as well as a nice break from all the green and brown. Opposite the sofa stands a dark wooden table (which, unsurprisingly, there is a vase with freesias on) and against the other wall, a small TV.

Louis loves it.

“I love it,” he doesn’t hesitate to tell Harry, who (even more unsurprisingly) smiles.

“I’m glad. Your room is by the end of the corridor, by the way.” He points in the direction for Louis to walk in.

Louis does so, carefully watching the paintings and photographs on the walls. The photos are comfortable and warm, filled with smiling and grimacing people, friends Louis’d guess, some of them having the exact same bright smile as Harry. Louis guesses those are his family.

The paintings are those kind of abstract shit Louis has never understood, but they feel so very Harry. If people were paintings, Louis would be a messy pencil portrait with too many different lightings and shadows by an artist who couldn’t make up his mind, and Harry would be one of those acrylic color explosions with warm, bright colors portraying intensity and passion.

Louis’ room is very small, most of the space taken up by the bed. The walls are the same colors as the living room. In a corner stands a little drawer, and on top of it is a vinyl player and Louis laughs, because of course Harry would be one of those people who still had that.

It’s cozy, though, just like everything around Harry seems to be.

After ensuring that the bed is soft and sleepable (is that a word?) (it is now), Louis walks out of the room, wondering what Harry is doing.

He finds him in the kitchen, sitting by the table, dipping a teabag into a cup. He looks up when he hears Louis’ steps, and smiles.

“Do you want some tea, too?” he asks.

“You just asked an Englishman if he wants tea.”

“I don’t want to stereotype.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Then yes, I’d love some tea. Thank you.”

Harry points at one of the cabinet doors. “Top shelf,” he says.

Louis opens it, and gulps. Shit. Turns out ’top shelf’ is very, very high up.

He knows he’s short, okay. He likes to pretend he lives in denial, but he knows exactly how short he is, and he hates it.

With a sigh and a quiet “here we go”, he pushes up on his tip toes, reaching his arm as far up as he can. He still doesn’t reach. Fuck being short.

“Uh, do you need help, Louis?” He hears Harry ask behind him, clearly amused.

“No!” he exclaims. “I can do this by myself...”

He starts jumping pathetically, using the kitchen counter for support. But no matter how desperately hard he tries to reach the yellow cup up there, it doesn’t seem to work.

He’s just about to reach it, he swears, when someone leans over him and grips the cup, taking it down with ease.

Harry raises an eyebrow, the ever present smile turning slightly mocking. Louis narrows his eyes.

“I almost had it,” he grumbles.

Harry ignores it, humor twinkling in his eyes. “You’re really tiny,” he points out lightly.

Louis shoves him. “Am not! You’re just a giant.”

“You couldn’t reach the top shelf,” Harry says like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever had the pleasure to experience.

Louis huffs and takes the damned mug from him. “I’ll have you known my height is just normal in England.”

“All men have to stand on their chairs to reach the top shelf in England?”

“You know what, fuck you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Harry retorts with a smirk.

_Whoa_. Louis stares at the taller boy. “Cheeky.”

Harry shrugs and grins. “I only have earl grey at the moment, I hope it’s okay?”

And just like that, the topic is changed.

Louis nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Harry pours some boiled water into the mug, takes out one more teabag and hands it to him. “Milk and sugar are on the table already.”

“Thanks.”

They sit down at the table, and Louis takes one spoon of sugar and pours it into his tea, before stirring it with the tea bag.

“This is kind of surprising,” he says.

“What?”

“I kind of imagined wine and snails and froglegs. And your English is like, really good so I feel a bit stupid here for going to France and not knowing anything.”

Harry snorts. “Nah, I just really liked English in school, don't worry. And snails are disgusting, I’ll have you known.”

“I can imagine.”

“My mum loves them. It’s horrible.”

“Do they taste all cold and slimy and slurpy?”

“Nah, you boil them and it's pretty much drowned in garlic butter. It’s more the idea of having a snail in your mouth that does the whole thing.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“It is.”

It’s quiet for a while. Harry’s gone back to silently watching him again. Louis just casually brings the tea to his mouth when Harry decides to say;

“You’re very pretty, Louis.”

And Louis almost chokes on the tea. He coughs once and twice, before daring to meet Harry’s sincere eyes again.

“Do you often just blurt out stuff like that?” he asks, and he can swear his cheeks is definitely severely red now.

Harry shrugs. “I like honesty.”

Louis swallows hard. “Well. You don’t look too bad yourself,” he gets out and mentally slaps himself. Good one, there. Really. Call him Louis Tomlinson the Smoothtalker.

Harry just grins at it, though. “Well thank you.”

 

~

 

It’s official; Louis cannot sleep.

He’s been twisting and turning for hours, trying to find a good position, trying to make his body relax, but he can’t. It feels like thousands of ants are creeping and crawling under his skin.

Pictures and memories of Ryan are just running around in his head. How he looked in the morning, blond hair all ruffled and messy and face soft with sleep. His voice when he told Louis he loved him. His warm breath on Louis’ neck, his hands exploring his face and his body.

His lips on that other boy's lips. His fingers tangled into the stranger’s hair. Their hushed laughter. Their smiles.

Fuck, he can’t do this.

He needs to move, walk around, get rid of the ants.

As quiet as he can, he sneaks out of bed and out the door.

The flat is so, so quiet. The only thing Louis can hear is his own breathing and the creaking floorboards as he sneaks through the rooms, exploring them.

He settles for the living room. Clumsily, he tip toes to sit down on the sofa, but he hits his big toe on the table leg. He curses a bit too loudly.

“Louis?”

Louis yelps and turns around.

Harry is standing in the doorway, looking all tired and cuddly.

“Sorry,” Louis whispers. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Harry replies and starts moving slowly towards him.

Louis sighs and sinks down on the couch. Harry follows quickly, a worried crease visible between his eyebrows.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

"Yeah." Louis runs a hand through his hair and laughs unhappily. “No. Could you-- just distract me, please?”

“How?” Harry shuffles closer to him.

“I don’t know, just... Tell me about yourself.”

Harry scratches his neck. “Well. My name’s Harry Styles. I’m twenty two. I enjoy cooking, music and flowers.”

“Harry Styles? That’s your real name?”

“Yes?” Harry raises his eyebrows questioningly.

Louis waves his hand dismissively. “Sorry. ’S just… Special. Never heard it before.”

Harry smiles. Again. “Yeah, I know.”

“Continue please.”

“Um. I don’t like mayonnaise and my French accent when I talk to you, I sound ridiculous. And I will be personally offended if you don’t care about the language of flowers when choosing for a special occasion. My hair is not straight. Neither am I.”

Louis blurts out a surprised laugh. “Smooth.”

Harry shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“Your accent is nice. It sounds so poetic when you speak, so don’t worry about that.”

“It’s the R’s, isn’t it?”

“It’s the R’s. And why would you get personally offended?”

“I get personally offended by other people’s ignorance a lot.”

Louis hums sympathetically. “Same.”

Harry looks out the window, and laughs quietly. “Once, I was helping a woman with her bouquet for her wedding, and the theme colors were white and orange, so she wanted orange lilies in it. Didn’t matter what I told her, or how many other beautiful orange flowers I suggested, she was still demanding the stupid lilies. I was almost considering my choice of job.”

“What does orange lilies represent, then?” Louis asks, amused.

“Hatred and dislike,” Harry states simply, and Louis chuckles. The story really isn't that interesting, but Harry has a really soothing voice. Louis kind of wants to put it on repeat and listen to it for ever.

“I hope someone stepped on her wedding dress while walking down the aisle,” he declares and Harry frowns.

“That’s not very nice.”

“You hope so, too. Don’t deny it.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitches. “Well.”

A silence follows after that, and it would’ve been a comfortable one if Harry hadn’t got that special little look in his eyes and started _watching_ again. Louis doesn’t like it, it makes him feel like his feelings are just out there on display, and Harry’s reading straight into them. He looks down on his hands, desperately trying to find a new topic of conversation.

Unfortunately, Harry beats him to it.

“What’s bothering you, Louis?”

“Maybe you staring at me.”

“I’m just trying to figure you out.”

“That’s very Edward Cullen of you, Harry, but it won’t help.”

He narrows his eyes thoughtfully, not letting them off Louis, and then he leans over to the table and picks up one of the freesias.

“Freesia,” he says, his French bleeding into the words. “Represents _confiance_. Trust.” He places the flower in Louis’ hands. “You can trust me.”

Louis still keeps quiet, letting his fingertips trace along the petals on the flower.

“I just don’t want you to be sad,” Harry mumbles then.

And Louis breaks.

Snaps. Just like that. Tears starts to fall down his cheeks before he can stop them, slowly and silently drop down on his hands. He hiccups and looks away, embarrassed. He had sworn he wouldn’t do this in front of Harry, and still here he is.

But Harry, lovely Harry, without saying a word just pulls Louis into a warm hug.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles into his ear.

Louis shakes his head violently because no, Harry hasn’t done anything wrong. He can’t let Harry think he did anything wrong when he just in a way has said _I care for you_. Even if they had met only a few hours ago.

Louis has needed those words so much.

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s -- I knew this would happen eventually. Thank you.” He brings a hand to his face to dry his eyes. “Fuck, I’m embarrassing.”

“Crying is not embarrassing. Strong feelings are never embarrassing, even if we’re being taught that they are. What would humans be without strong feelings, huh?”

“Are you always this... Sincere about everything?”

“I like honestly,” Harry just says once again with a smile.

“My boyfriend cheated on me,” Louis blurts out.

Whoops. There it is, then. Honesty is the way to go.

He feels Harry tense up a bit, hug tightening.

“I came home from work one day-- I work in a bookshop-- and he was getting it on with some guy I’d never seen before in our bedroom.”

“Oh, Lou,” Harry whispers.

“Don’t pity me, please.”

“No pity, just caring. How long were you dating?”

“Three years.”

Louis turns his face into Harry’s chest, and Harry mumbles something that sounds like _merde_ , and tangles his fingers into Louis’ hair.

“And--” Louis continues. “And they looked so _happy_ , Harry. They were laughing and smiling. And it just feels like...” He sniffles. “It feels like everyone around me is just so goddamned happy _all the time_. And I’m not. I don’t understand, I have all reasons to be perfectly content with my life, but... There’s always something missing.”

Harry just strokes his cheek with his thumb.

“That’s not fair. You deserve happiness, too.”

“Life isn’t fair. And the starving in Africa deserves food, and all children deserves an education, and all humans, whoever you are, deserves to be treated with respect. But that’s not happening either.”

Another quiet sob rushes through his body.

“People used to pick on me during my whole school time,” Harry says quietly. “I was shit at sports and I made flower crowns and wore them around everywhere and I was too sensible. I don’t know if that helps, but. I don’t want this whole confession thing to feel completely one sided.”

“That’s so stupid. They’re all stupid,” Louis mumbles, trying to imagine someone picking on, laughing at Harry, _Harry_. It makes him really angry and he clenches his fists tightly in Harry's shirt. "I would've been your friend. Without a doubt

“Well. Thank you. It got better, however, when I started _lycée_ and changed schools, but. Yeah. I’ve always been too passionate about things, I think.”

“Not ’too’ passionate. Strong feelings are never embarrassing, you told me. Passion is a strong feeling. Passion is beautiful on people.”

It’s quiet again after that. Harry’s hands has moved to Louis’ back, stroking up at down. Louis never wants to let go.

“I fall in love too easily,” he mutters all of sudden. “I fall hard and fast and easily, and then it ends too quickly, and I’m just left even more sad. Ryan was the longest relationship I’ve had. And we all know how that went now.”

Harry hums, voice quietly raw and he sighs deeply.

“Okay,” he says at last. He straightens Louis up, hands still on his shoulders. “Tell me about you.”

Louis smiles crookedly. “I’m Louis Tomlinson. I’m twenty five. I enjoy football and sleeping and being around people. I strongly dislike winter and getting older. I have four sisters. And I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

They keep talking, getting to know each other into the early hours of the morning. When they fall asleep, it’s with Louis’ head on Harry’s chest and Harry’s mouth in Louis’ hair, all tangled limbs and lips pressed to Harry’s defined collarbones.

 

~

 

When Louis wakes up the next day, he’s wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa. The sun is peeking in through the curtains.

For a slight moment, Louis forgets where he is. Confusedly, he looks around the room, taking in his surroundings, before his eyes falls on the lonely freesia on the table, and, oh. Right.

He sits up and stretches his arms above his head, yawning loudly. He briefly wonders where Harry is, as he raises and walks into the kitchen. His guess is that he’s already down in the shop.

The first thing Louis notices is the heavenly smell, and the bread on the kitchen counter. The second, is the tea on the kitchen table and the third is the note next to it.

He sits down and takes the note in his hands.

 

_Bonjour mon chéri!_

_I’m downstairs. There’s freshly baked croissants from the boulangerie down the street on the counter (since you were imagining French food and all), you know where the teacups are. Come down to the shop when you’re done._

_//Harry :)_

 

Louis bites back a fond smile.

How the fuck did he even get here in the first place? He literally just walked into the store because it was the only one open, he was freezing, and the flowers were pretty, and all of sudden he’s waking up in some even prettier, flower crown-wearing boy’s living room. 

These kind of things just don’t _happen_.

Louis raises from the chair and walks up to the kitchen counter. He fills the water boiler with water and switches it on, while getting some sugar and a croissant and puts the things down at the table.

He’s emotionally preparing for mastering the teacup shelf, when he notices the stool standing a few feet away from him with a yellow post-it note on it.

 

_In case you don’t reach._

_You’re welcome ;)_

 

And okay, yeah. Screw Harry Styles, honestly.

(He does not use it. He doesn’t. _He doesn’t_.)

(Okay maybe he does.)

 

~

 

After breakfast, Louis puts his shoes on and hurries down the stairs, childishly anxious to see Harry.

He’s standing by the front desk in all his tall glory, busy speaking to a cute brunette in rapid French.

Louis blinks, determined not to let it distract him, and he coughs subtly. Harry turns around and instantly lights up, eyes twinkling in that familiar way. He waves for Louis to come closer.

“Louis!” he exclaims, and gestures towards the girl. “This is Eleanor, my friend and co-worker. She will be taking care of the shop today.”

Louis smiles hesitantly at her. Eleanor eyes him up and down, and smirks back. She mumbles something to Harry, who elbows her and mutters _’tais-toi’_ back. Eleanor just giggles, though Harry didn’t seem to have been the most polite he could be.

Louis is very confused.

“Why is Eleanor ’taking care of the shop’ today?” he wonders.

Eleanor just snickers and Harry rolls his eyes at her. “Because I’m taking you out on sightseeing today. You can’t just visit Paris without having actually seen the city.”

That doesn’t seem too bad. Spending the whole day with Harry. Louis is cool with that. Very cool. So insanely cool.

“Oh. Really?” is what he answers, though, and his mind is facepalming.

“It’s a date,” Eleanor pipes up. Her accent is even heavier than Harry’s.

Harry mutters something at her, and he’s talking so fast Louis is actually amazed Eleanor catches it all.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I was just thinking, you know, a bit of wandering around, maybe visiting the Eiffel tower...”

“Maybe a dinner at a nice restaurant,” Eleanor chimes in. “Maybe a little _bisou_ under the fireworks...”

Harry glares at her. “Ignore her,” he says to Louis. “She likes jumping to conclusions very quickly.”

“And Harry has not had a date in a very long time.”

“It’s not a date.”

Eleanor shrugs, but she still has that playful smirk on her face. Harry, seemingly deciding to ignore her, throws a glace on the clock.

“Well we’re going with a bus in about fifteen minutes,” he says. “I’ll just go and get out coats. Whatever Eleanor says, she’s wrong.”

With that, he hurries up the stairs and Louis is alone with Eleanor.

She’s watching him, kind of in the same way Harry did, but more judgingly, eyes slightly narrowed. She’s making her impression of him, and Louis feels himself blush.

“Louis?” she says suddenly.

“Yes?”

Eleanor’s smile turns gentle. “He really, very likes you. A lot.”

Louis doesn’t even get the chance to answer, because Harry is back down with their clothes. Louis just blinks perplexed, before he turns his face to Harry, who is taking off his flower crown.

“It will only get hurt in this cold,” he explains when Louis gives him a questioning look. Harry gives Louis his coat, scarf and beanie, and Louis puts it all on quickly.

When Harry’s got his black, big trench coat on, he grins at Louis. “Come on, then,” he says. “Off we go.”

 

~

 

“Je t'aimerai..?”

Harry nods excitedly. “...Jusqu'à la fin...”

“Jusqu’á le fin...”

“La fin.”

“Whatever.”

“ _La fin_... des temps.”

“ _La fin_ des temps. Je t'aimerai jusqu'à... la fin des temps? Was that right?”

Louis looks at Harry hopefully. It didn’t quite sound like the music Harry makes whenever he talks, but it’s close, right?

Harry smiles so brightly and nods. “You sound like a proper Frenchman.”

“I know, I’m really starting to feel this language. Basically fluent now, aren’t I? Now... What does it mean?"

Harry's smile is making his eyes crinkle. "Well, there's no real translation to make it justice, but I'd say 'I'll love you until the end of time'."

They’re seated at this lovely café Harry insisted on going to, assuring Louis they had the best hot chocolate in France. And, well, who was Louis to deny that promise?

The furniture is very vintage, the walls cream white with old fashioned paintings on them, portraying what was probably Paris a long time ago. The two boys are currently sitting at a round marble table sipping hot chocolate with whipped cream and eating pastries. Louis is feeling so alive and so very happy. He doesn't know if he's connected this quickly with another person before, but it's amazing. They never seem to run out of things to talk about and there's a mutual understanding between the two of them that is quite hard to explain.

Harry smiles. “Okay, next one. This is also very romantic, but you’d probably use it for people you don’t know very well but really want to be with, instead of the long term love of your life.”

“Okay.” Louis straightens up and takes a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

“Okay? Baise-moi...”

“Baise-moi...”

“...Contre le mur.”

“Contre l--” Louis stops when he sees Harry’s desperate tries to bite back laughter. “That’s not something romantic _at all_ , is it?”

Harry looks at him innocently, but the twinkling eyes gives his feelings away once again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Harry Styles, what the fuck are you making me say?”

“Something that will have all the boys melting in a second...”

“Cut the crap. You’re busted.”

Harry just leans back in his seat, a satisfied smile tilting his mouth upwards. “Why don’t you ask someone?”

Louis rolls his eyes and drinks some of the hot chocolate (which, yeah, Harry wasn’t exaggerating). He then leans over the table to be as close to Harry as possible and makes his eyes as big as he can.

“Please Harry, just tell me what it is.”

Harry shakes his head with a passion, but something is flickering in his eyes and Louis hopes that it’s uncertainty.

He pouts. “Pretty please. Pretty pretty please with cherry on top.”

“Honestly?”

Harry leans in as well, until his lips is almost gracing Louis’ ear. Louis can feel his hot breath and tries not to shudder.

“It means ’fuck me against the wall.’”

At first, Louis’ breath hitches. It literally hitches and his eyelids flutter because holy shit, if those words combined with Harry’s low, raspy voice and French accent wasn’t the sexiest thing Louis had ever heard in his life.

But he recovers quickly. Realizing what Harry had tried to make him say, he widens his eyes and hits Harry on the arm.

“Oh my _God_!” he exclaims. “You’re the worst. I hate you. I have lost all my trust in you. What a first class betrayal.”

Harry is laughing loudly, both hands flying up to cover his mouth. His eyes are shut tightly as he tries to regain control over his breathing. The little shit.

“Well. I would say it’s a pretty useful phrase,” he giggles ( _giggles_ ), and Louis is having a harder and harder time keeping a straight face.

“Really? What will come next? ’You are my eternal sunshine’ with a dash of ’fuck my mouth and pull my hair?’”

This throws Harry in another fit of laughter, and they’re lucky there’s lots of loud speaking people at the café, because they’re not exactly being quiet.

Louis sighs. “I swear to God you’re twelve years old.”

Harry pokes his cheeks, face shining with laughter. “It is funny and you know it.”

Louis’ eyes widens in feign horror. “How dare you accuse me of this? It is not.”

“It is.” Poke, poke, poke. “It’s so funny, Lou. Laugh with me.”

And Louis is trying really hard to hold it back, he really is. But this boy is just so contagious, and he can feel the corners of his mouth twitch.

And so what if it all ends up with them writhing in their chairs, laughing loudly and causing people to turn around and glare, because somehow, Louis ended up in Paris with Harry Styles, and he doesn’t remember the last time he felt this good.

 

~

 

“So, have you always lived in Paris?” Louis pulls his beanie down over his ears, shuddering lightly from the cold.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, “I used to live in Nantes. It’s about four hours away from here, but I moved a year ago and got the flower shop.”

“So your family still lives in Nantes?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you miss them?”

“Of course I do. But it’s not unbearable, and besides, it’s not that far away. It’s fine.” Harry smiles and then points forward. “There it is! Le Pont de Bir-Hakeim. We’re getting closer to the Eiffel Tower.”

Tiny snowflakes are softly falling from the slowly darkening sky now, not enough to cover the ground, but enough to float down and land in Harry’s hair. He looks like some kind of magical creature out here, with the dark curls and bright green eyes and abnormally red lips.

“You look like Snow White, you know,” Louis says, kicking away a few leaves out of his way. Harry gives him an odd look and Louis explains, “Skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony and all that.”

Harry smiles amusedly then, eyeing Louis with a thoughtful expression. “Well, then I guess you’ll have to be a dwarf. I mean, you’ve got the height covered.”

Louis gives him a sharp look and pushes him roughly. “You’re such an arse! Why am I even hanging out with you again?”

Harry just grins excessively wide and slides and arm around Louis’ waist to pull him as close as possible. “Because I’m irresistible.”

Louis could sadly not argue on that point. He just huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, dramatically turning his head away from the traitor who currently holds him so close Louis almost has trouble breathing properly.

“I’m kidding, you know,” Harry says later, and he’s back to being genuine and serious. “You’re honestly more like a pixie. An elf or something.”

“Well, that’s a bit better, I guess,” Louis admits. “At least elves aren’t as ugly. But I’m still not _that_ short, and I don’t have pointy ears.”

Harry smiles. “Your head goes barely over my shoulder. And I don’t have black hair, so I guess we’re even.”

“So we’re a Disney princess and an elf, then?” Louis smirks.

“Yeah, I guess. You really got the better out of us though,” Harry says, “Elves are hotter than Snow White.”

“Says who?”

“Says Orlando Bloom.”

“Touché.”

Harry looks at him at that and smirks. “I see what you did there.”

“Shush, you.”

They start walking across the Bir-Hasomething Bridge (whatever), feet dragging along the asphalt and eyes taking in Paris. Somewhere in middle, Harry slips his hand into Louis’. Louis doesn’t mind. His hands were cold, anyway. And it feels really good, is the truth. Or, like, friends can hold hands, right?

Right. But the thing is, Louis is not very sure Harry is just a ‘friend’ to him.

And it’s really stupid and really weird, because Louis literally caught his boyfriend for three years cheating on him two days ago. It shouldn’t happen like this, he should be crying and moping around for weeks and eat tons of ice cream and watch chick flicks with Zayn and Niall hugging him as he pours his feelings out to them. He should be absolutely heartbroken, because he loved Ryan. He still loves him, he does. The betrayal still hurts and he’s still sad. And he had kind of assumed they would be together forever and all that. So it really should be more of a dramatic change.

But Harry, Harry is… Something else.

His smiles, his charisma, his accent, his voice, his passion, his humor, his sincerity. Louis has never seen anything like it before. He’s like this human enigma and Louis never wants to stop figuring him out.

 

~

 

“I do have money, you could’ve let me pay.”

“It’s not that much money, Louis. I can live with paying for this, besides, you didn’t say anything while I was paying, so why are you going on about it now?” Harry rolls his eyes and starts leading Louis inside the Eiffel Tower.

“Maybe because I had no clue what was going on? I swear to God you’re taking advantage of the fact that I can’t speak your language. I totally would’ve paid for myself if I’d known that was what we were supposed to do.”

Harry stops once they’re inside and turns them so he’s facing Louis. “First of all, Lou, what did you think we were doing when we were walking up to a booth with a man by a cash register? Second, if it really bothers you so much, we can find a way for you to pay back. Okay?”

Louis sighs and glares at Harry. “Could you not be so goddamn nice for a second? I’m desperately trying to stay upset with you.”

The smile is twitching in the corners of Harry’s mouth. “Please don’t be upset with me.”

“Thought you said this wasn’t a date?”

Harry fiddles with his hands. “It’s not.”

“Well then why would you pay for me? I even changed money so I would be able to pay for stuff!”

Louis stops his foot, but it probably gives the impression of a moody five year old rather than emphasizing his disapproval.

“Well– wait, if this was a date, would you let me pay for you?”

“I don’t know, maybe? Probably. I’m a very expensive date, I’ll have you known.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Harry mutters before pulling him along to wait for the elevator. “So… If I turn this into a date now, you would let this go?” he asked with a hopeful smile.

Louis raises his eyebrows and pouts. “Who says _I_ want this to be date?”

Harry’s smile vanishes and he looks down at his feet and runs a hand through his hair. Louis realizes that Harry is _insecure_ all of sudden, and it’s adorable. “Well, I, I don’t know. I’m just thinking hypothetically…”

Louis feels very giddy from knowing that Harry is like this, all flustered and shy (well would you look at that, another side to Harry Styles that Louis didn’t know) because of _him_ , of all things. That maybe Harry cares about Louis in more than one way.

He elbows him lightly in the side. “Stop that you dolt, who wouldn’t want to go on a date with you?”

Harry’s head snaps up, eyes hopeful once again. “So is that a yes?”

Louis rolls his eyes and smiles. “Yeah, sure, whatever. It’s a date.”

“Are you sure? I mean, if it’s all going to fast…”

“Harry. If I would’ve disliked anything about this, _you would know_. Trust me.”

“Oh.” And there it is again, the satisfied smile taking a permanent place on his face again. “Well, then.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “So let’s just wait for this stupid elevator.”

“Would you have preferred the stairs? We could be up on the second floor in about 30 minutes, if we’re lucky.”

“Elevator is perfect.”

Harry chuckles lowly, and his hand finds Louis’ again, slowly intertwining their fingers. Louis bites his lip to hide a smile and tries his hardest not to jump all around the place out of happiness.

Harry just does things to him, doesn’t he?

 

~

 

“Well, wasn’t that about fucking time,” Louis exclaims as soon as they’re out of the elevator on the third floor. “How many people were in there? Fifty? Fifty hundreds?”

“Something like that,” Harry agrees. People are still flooding out from the elevator doors. “Come on, we need to get a good view while we can.”

He pulls Louis with him by the hand (that he hasn’t let go of since he took it before the elevator ride, Louis notes) away from the mass of people.

“It could’ve been worse, though,” he tells Louis when they’ve gotten a somewhat empty spot. “When I was here the first time, it was summer and the tourist number was at its highest. I could barely breathe.”

“Poor Harry,” Louis coos teasingly and Harry pouted.

“Be lucky I have been here before and know how things work, or we probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says, nuzzling closer to Harry. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The sky is fairly dark now; a few stars are visible and the moon shines like one big street lamp over Paris.

Not that it’s needed, really.

“Wow,” Louis breathes, walking closer to the fence. The entire city is lit up by a million different lights and lamps from different places. The huge park beneath them is shining and so are all of the bridges, the Seine is sparkling and the buildings… It looks like someone has turned the universe upside down and all stars have fallen down to Earth.

“Fuck, Harry, this is beautiful,” he says in the taller boy’s ear (he has to stand on his tiptoes to reach, but we’re not talking about that now).

Harry shrugs. “It’s not called ‘La Ville Lumière’ for nothing.”

Louis smiles, drunk on the feeling of being so high up in the air. The cold wind ruffles Harry’s hair and Louis is filled with such affection for this lanky, big-eyed boy right now he barely knows what to do with himself.

“And what does that mean?” he wonders.

“You’d know it as The City of Light.”

Louis giggles. “I thought that was New York?”

“Pretty sure that’s The City of Dreams,” Harry says and Louis can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Whatever.”

“Hey,” Harry says then, leaning down a bit to come closer to Louis’ ear. “There’s this New Year’s party one of my friends are throwing and I’ve promised to go.”

“Oh. Okay.” Louis feels a little bit nervous at that; was Harry saying Louis would have to be alone tonight? Because, like, call Louis stupid, but he had assumed they would spend it together.

But Harry just lets go of Louis’ hand to put his arms around Louis’ waist from behind, pulling him impossibly closer. “Come with me?”

Louis’ head perks up then, turning to look at Harry. “Really? Would your friends be okay with it?”

Harry snorts. “Eleanor has probably told them all about you already. They would rather be very not-okay if I didn’t bring you.”

“Oh. Well, okay,” Louis nods. “When are we supposed to be there?”

“Well…” Harry looks at his watch (to be honest Louis didn’t even know there still were people using those). “It’s almost seven now, and Eleanor’s driving us by ten. So we have three more hours, I think. And I need to get home and fix some stuff first. I’m fixing the music.”

“Are you bringing your vinyl player then?” Louis snickers and Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“Hey. Don’t mock my vinyls.”

“ _Are_ you bringing it?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Of course not. I’m bringing my phone, which I left at home.”

“Good. I was actually starting to become worried. Wait, you had the strength to leave your phone at home for a day? Shit, I have underestimated you. You have all of my respect.”

“Thanks. It feels nice.”

“It better, I don’t give away respect for free.”

Harry just laughs lowly, burying his mouth in Louis’ hair.

And, yeah, Louis could get used to this.

 

~

Eleanor is awaiting them in the shop when they arrive. She has a big shit-eating grin on her face and Louis catches Harry subtly shaking his head at her and not so subtly giving her a short glare.

Eleanor doesn’t seem fazed by this, though, like she never does. She asks Harry something in French, as to which he answers something shortly. He turns to Louis and smiles a little. “You can just wait here, yeah? I’ll be right back down.”

With that, Harry rushes up the stairs. Louis plops down on the front desk while waiting. He doesn’t hear Eleanor sneak up behind him, so he jumps a little when a voice behind him asks;

“So, how was the not-date?”

He turns to Eleanor and smiles weakly. “It was good.”

Eleanor nods. “I asked Harry, but he isn’t very happy with me,” she tells him, and Louis laughs lowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve noticed.”

Eleanor is obviously not as good or confident with English as Harry is, so they don’t really have a conversation. She seems nice enough, though.

She’s just coming out from the room behind the desk, and she’s holding one of Harry’s flower crowns in her hands, a playful smirk. She walks up to Louis and gives it to him.

“Try it,” she says excitedly, and Louis hesitantly puts it on his head.

It seems to delight Eleanor at least, because she claps her hands and smiles widely.

“It looks lovely on you, Louis. I just want to see Harry’s reaction, please?”

Louis is a bit confused as to why she would want to see Harry’s reaction to him wearing one of his flower crowns like there was something incredibly special about it, so he asks lightly;

“Sure, but why?”

“He really likes them,” Eleanor answers and Louis can’t say he understands better from that statement.

“What, so he’ll like, slap me?”

Eleanor laughs. “No, opposite of that, I think.”

“O…kay.”

Then there are hasty steps heard from the stairs, and Harry comes down again.

“Okay, we’ll leave in a minute, just have to get my—“

He stops when he sees Louis, and he seems to freeze for a couple of seconds. Louis looks down on his lap. He hears Eleanor snickering quietly behind them, and Louis is severely failing to see the fun in this.

Harry swallows and then he’s slowly walking up to Louis, a faint smile on his lips.

“Why are you wearing my flower crown, Louis?” he asks casually.

Louis shrugs. “It was lying on the desk, figured I’d try it,” he lies smoothly, sparing Eleanor more glares from Harry. He thinks she’s had enough of those for today.

The smile spreads on Harry’s face and he cups Louis’ cheeks. “Well, you look lovely. Like an actual elf. It’s adorable,” he tells him, and Louis blushes.

Who the fuck is Eleanor, honestly, and what the fuck are her motives.

Louis smiles at his hands and then takes the crown of off his head to delicately place it on Harry’s.

“It’s a better look on you, I think. Flowerboy and all.”

Harry walks away behind the desk to turn the lights off and get the keys, and Louis turns to Eleanor as soon as he’s gone.

“What the fuck was that?” he hisses.

Eleanor is legitimately shining, though, so she must’ve got what she wanted.

“I never get to wear his flower crowns. And his eyes. They are sparkling, Louis. He’s so in love with you,” she whispers theatrically.

Louis eyes widens and he stutters “Are—are you crazy, we’ve know each other for like—It’s gone like a day!”

Eleanor just smirks. “I know how the boy looks like when he likes someone and he is _smitten_ ,” she says, dragging out the last word.

They don’t get to discuss it more, though, because the lights are turned off and Harry comes back and they’re all getting out of there to get into Eleanor’s car.

Eleanor is obviously teasing Harry, chanting “ _tu l'aimes_ ” over again, and Harry just hushes her, or says “ _non, non, non, tais-toi_ ,” every time.

Louis has an idea about what they could be arguing about, but he’s not sure.

 

~

 

A couple of other people are meeting them in the doorway when they arrive at the house. It’s pretty big and white and looks pretty expensive, too.

“So, this friend of yours, is he possibly rich?” Louis mumbles to Harry.

“His parents are. They’re CEO’s or something for some big company, they’re on a business trip until Saturday. It’s their house, he's taking care of it while they’re gone.”

They don’t get to talk more right then, because they’ve reached the door, and Harry and Eleanor are greeting them, talking and it all sounds like a blur of nonexistent words and spontaneous noises.

When they’re done probably updating each other on what they’ve been up to or something, the people turn their eyes to Louis. He can feel his cheeks getting a tad hotter.

One of the guys, the tallest one with his red-ish hair up in an impressive quiff Zayn would’ve been jealous of, eyes Louis up and down, kind of like Eleanor had done, but with a bit more… Criticality. Louis wants to cringe under his look.

Harry introduces him to the others, Louis recognizing his own name, and _anglais_ , and Eleanor butts in with something too, something with _copain_ , _ami_ , which Harry quickly responds to.

Louis is feeling pretty stupid when Harry finally turns to him, speaking in an understandable language.  “Louis, these are my friends. This is Nick, it’s his parents’ house,” he points at tall quiff-boy, “this is Liam, my friend since we were seven,” he points at another guy with short, caramel brown hair and muscly arms, “this is Sophia, Liam’s girlfriend,” he points at the girl next to Liam who looks like she could be working as some kind of model, “and this is Caroline,” he at last points at the kind of brunette at the left, with high heels that could kill her if she’d take one wrong step.

To Louis’ relief, they are all very nice, asking friendly questions of genuine curiosity, like how Harry and him had met, why he was here over New Year’s (which Harry helped him with, and like, god bless him), and what he thought of Paris.

Nick seems to have something little against him, though, with the judging glances and straight out mocking expressions as Louis talks, and he feels a bit uneasy with him around.

More and more people are arriving at the house, and soon enough the place is crowded, music is playing loudly, plastic cups are being refilled over and over again, and the lightning is dim and shifting.

Louis has always been one for parties, to be honest. If it was to forget, or celebrate, or just to have fun, he’s always loved the feeling of adrenaline and booze running through his body, feeling the music thump in his chest and feeling the heat from other people who are just like him.

He isn’t that drunk now, though, and to be honest he isn’t planning to be tonight. He’s settling for pleasantly tipsy, because he wants to remember this.

Louis thinks that it’s funny, because this trip was something he’d count on regretting in the future.

But tonight, tonight he’s just being here, and he’s watching Harry as he’s making conversations with people everywhere, flower crown askew and smile bright so bright, and Louis can’t imagine he will ever regret this.

He’s standing on the side of the dance floor right now, waiting for Harry to get back. He’s letting his eyes move over the dancing people, who are messily moving their hips and arms and feet to the rhythm, some kissing a little here and there, some spilling their drinks and tripping over their own and other’s feet.

Another song is starting, and before Louis knows what’s even happening, a giggling mess of wild curls is sweeping in and dragging him out on the dance floor.

Harry’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are shining brighter than the lights, and he takes both of Louis’ hands in his, pulling him closer.

“Dance with me, Louis,” he says and who is Louis to turn him down?

It feels kind of amazing, the way their bodies are moving together, hands traveling anywhere and everywhere, pressing tightly against each other, and they’re _laughing_ , and everything’s just great. Just so great.

And Harry’s lips are so close, is the thing. They’re plump and parted and red, and they look so smooth and soft, and. And.

Louis really wants to kiss him.

He realizes, that he’s desperate to feel those lips against his own. He wants to suck on Harry’s lower lip, he wants to lick along it and into his mouth, he wants to feel him gasp and moan into his mouth and he wants to tangle his fingers into Harry’s hair and he never wants to let go.

He wants to see Harry’s lips bitten raw and redder than Ryan’s ever was.

And, you see, there’s nothing stopping him.

So he’s locking his arms around Harry’s neck, inching closer to his face, until he has to starts pressing up on his tiptoes.

Harry seem to catch up on what’s happening, pulling those sinful lips into a smirk, hands gliding down to Louis’ waist.

That’s all the encouragement Louis needs, really, so he pulls himself up and he’s so close now, can feel Harry’s shallow breath on his mouth, on his tongue.

Their lips are barely touching and Louis’ just about to make the last move and kiss the fuck out of Harry, when someone runs into them, screaming “CINQ MINUTES!” and spilling some beer on the way to the balcony.

They both stumble apart, looking dazed and Louis blinks several times to get a grip of reality once again. He just almost kissed Harry. He wasn’t even an inch away.

He quietly curses and mentally gives the cockblocker a big slap in the face. Can’t he just have this one thing?

Harry looks very flustered, but everyone is walking out to the balcony, so he takes Louis hand absent-mindedly and drags him along the crowd.

Once out on the balcony, they get a spot pretty much against the wall. It’s cold and kind of windy, and Louis presses himself against Harry’s side, trying to keep the warmth.

Harry is just about to say something, when yet _another_ body crashes into them, causing them to part. The person is just muttering a quick “excusez-moi” as he literally walks _in between_ them, continuing away to a big group of people. Louis watches the quiff as it leaves, and he sighs, creeping into the heat that is Harry once again.

“I don’t think Nick likes me,” he mutters to him.

Harry shakes his head. “We, um. We used to date. He’s just very protective of me.”

“Or he might still like you.”

Harry shrugs. “Whatever it is, it ended between us months ago and it was mutual. Why, are you worried, mon chéri?

Louis snorts, completely ignoring the question.

“So we’re on pet name stage now?”

“Maybe?”

“I hope you realize that I know very, very many of those? Honey?”

Harry smirks. “Yeah, but do you know any in French? Mon petit chou.”

“English is good enough, love.”

“But French is the language of love, isn’t it? Beau.”

“Babycakes.”

“Mon bonbon.”

The countdown starts, people screaming out the numbers.

“Douze! Onze! Dix!”

“Darling.”

“Mon ange.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Mon cœur.”

“Neuf! Huit! Sept! Six!”

“Sweetie.”

“Bébé”

“Baby.”

“Mon trésor.”

Louis opens his mouth to retort with another nickname, dead set on not losing this battle, when suddenly the crowd’s screams get louder and louder, and he hear a “DEUX, UN!” and then all of sudden he’s pressed up against the wall, feet barely touching the concrete under him, and Harry’s lips are on his and _fucking finally_.

Louis’s hands reaches up to cup Harry’s cheeks, answering the kiss with a passion he didn’t even knew he had.

Harry’s lips are soft as velvet as they move against his, and it’s everything Louis dreamed it would be. He bites down on his lower lip, causing the younger boy to gasp and Louis takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into his mouth, licking, tasting, wanting to remember everything that is Harry, because honestly, he’s the only existing thing in his world right at the moment. Harry, and the sound of the fireworks, which is a very accurate description of how Louis’ insides feel right now.

When they break away, they’re breathing heavily, Louis burying his face in Harry’s shoulder. Harry puts him down swiftly, and when they’re facing each other again they just looks at each other for a moment. Harry’s lips are wet and even redder and fuller than before, and Louis wants to scream out all the happiness that is exploding in his chest.

Harry leans down and pecks his lips. “I.” Peck. “Have wanted to do that.” Peck. “Since I first.” Peck. “Laid eyes on you in the shop.”

Louis just smiles so widely, arms slipping around Harry’s waist. “Harry, I feel  _happy_ right now," he realizes. "Fuck, you make me so happy.”

Harry grins back. “Happy New Year, Lou.”

The happiest he has even known. “Happy New Year, Harry.”

 

~

 

They just keep on being like that for the rest of the night, making out and giggling and being generally soppy and sappy and disgusting, and Louis is wearing Harry’s flower crown and they’re sitting in an armchair, Louis bridal style over Harry’s lap, laughing into each other’s shoulder.

After a while, Eleanor walks by, and she’s grinning widely. “So tell me about the not-dating again?”

And if this was under other circumstances, maybe Harry should’ve snapped at her for teasing, but right now he isn’t capable of feeling any kind of negative feelings, so he makes a kind of half-sigh and smiles. “Merci, Eleanor.”

Eleanor just smiles back and then look at Louis, up at the flower crown on his head, and down to him again. She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and Louis blushes, and then she’s out of there.

It’s getting later and later, though, and after a while they figure they should get home, so Harry calls a taxi.

As they’re standing in the hallway and putting on their coats, Nick comes up to them. He asks Harry something as to which Harry nods. He follows Nick into the living room after saying a quick “be right back” to Louis, and Louis briefly hopes Nick won’t ruin anything. He’s still not entirely convinced about the “protective” part, but he figures Harry wouldn’t let him fuck something up, so he puts on his shoes and his beanie and waits for Harry to come back.

When he does, he still has a smile on his face, and Louis thinks that Nick can’t have said anything that bad, then. They say goodbye to Harry’s friends, and Harry kisses Louis nose before they open the door and walks down the steps and out to the taxi.

Harry is playing with Louis’ fingers the whole way back and Louis is resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. It’s hard to imagine now that Louis was in another relationship a few days ago. He feels like he’s known Harry forever.

As soon as they’re up in Harry’s flat, they’re kissing roughly again and Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist as they move along to Harry’s bedroom, struggling to get off their coats and shoes without breaking the kiss. This causes them to laugh, and it’s the sweetest mix of feelings Louis has ever felt. The flower crown falls off somewhere along the way, too, and it’s a pity, Louis thinks briefly. He rather liked it.

And when he has Harry hovering over him that night, thrusting deeply into him and sucking a trace of lovebites up from his collarbones to his jawline as Louis drags his nails along his back, connecting their lips in yet another kiss as they reach their climax, Louis might whine out a _jesus, Harry, fuck, I love you._

Because Harry is just so, so lovely, and he’s moaning and it’s _plus_ and _merde_ and _putain_ , at the same time as he keeps making sure Louis is okay, caressing Louis’ hair and face and belly, leaning down to every now and then to place wet kisses on Louis mouth, and Louis feels like his heart is going to burst through his chest.

When they’re lying there afterwards, fingers intertwined and Harry spooning Louis while Louis curls up to a ball and pretends to be asleep, Louis is almost positive he hears Harry breathe out;

“Je t'aime aussi, mon cheri.”

 

~

 

Louis wakes up alone in Harry’s bed. On the pillow next to him is a yellow post-it note that says “I’m opening up the shop. Come down as soon as you can xxxx.” With lots of doodles of hearts and smiley faces and flowers around it.

Louis puts on his jeans and one of Harry’s t-shirts. It’s way too big for him, but it’s nice and cozy and it smells like Harry, so he obviously loves it.

When he walks down the stairs, not bothering to eat breakfast yet, Harry’s sitting behind the desk and working on a new flower crown. Louis smiles softly at the sight and leans on the wall as he says;

“Good morning, Harry.”

Harry looks up and smiles faintly. “Good morning.”

And Louis may be overreacting, but he’s getting a bit nervous as he sees Harry’s smile. It’s not as bright as usual, and he can’t help but wonder what’s wrong.

“Is there anything wrong?” he asks quietly, and Harry sighs.

“No. Or, yes. Kind of. Lou, we need to talk.”

_We need to talk_.

Louis knows those four words far too well. He feels the sweat starting to take form on his forehead, but tries to keep it cool in front of Harry.

“O—Okay.”

He sits down on the desk so he’s facing Harry, resting his chin in his hands.

Harry sighs deeply and looks up tentatively. “You’re going home, Louis.”

Louis gives him an odd look. “Not necessarily. I’d rather stay here, to be honest. I haven’t booked anything.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Well, I have.”

It’s dead quiet for a few seconds. Louis stares at Harry, desperately trying to get a grip of the situation.

“Excuse me?”

“Your plane is leaving at four-thirty this afternoon. It’ll go straight to Doncaster airport where Zayn will be picking you up.”

Louis shakes his head, raising his hands to motion for Harry to stop. “Back it up. First of all, how do you know Zayn?”

“You had about thirteen missed calls from him, Lou. I assumed he was your friend, which he was.”

“You went through my phone?”

“No. I looked up Zayn’s number in your phone.”

Louis’ eyes are widened, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Louis, you can’t stay here.”

“And why the fuck not? Is this some sick way of breaking things off between us?”

“No!” Harry stands up from his seat, giving Louis a pointed look. “You… You told me you fall in love easily, right?”

Louis nodded slowly, and Harry smiles, but it’s not from happiness for the first time he’d ever seen.

“Well, I don’t. I don’t fall in love easily. This terrifies me. And one of the reasons to why you can’t stay, is that what if you change your mind? What if you find someone else, what if you run out of love for me?”

“It’s nice to know you have such faith in me,” Louis says coldly, and Harry groans miserably.

“No, it’s not that…”

“Wait.” Louis remembers yesterday before they left Nick’s house, and the pieces unfortunately click to place. “Was this what Nick wanted to talk to you about?”

Harry looks down on his feet. “Well. Kind of.”

“And you’re actually _listening_? He’s not doing any of this for _you_ , he’s doing it for himself.”

“No, it’s—“Harry licks his lips, gaze rapidly moving around the room as he tries to find the words. “Nick just asked me if it really was a good idea, when you’re from England and I’m from France, because it’ll be such a big commitment. That was all he said. I figured out the rest by myself.”

“Harry, I don’t fucking care if it’s a ‘big commitment’ or whatever Nick says it is.”

“But Lou, we’ve known each other for _two days_. We barely even know each other at all. And you moving from England to Paris because of someone you met two days ago. You still haven’t left a real excuse to why you left to your family or friends. Believe me, if there was an option, I would’ve let you stay with me. I would.”

“So I will! Harry, you know this isn’t something that happens usually. Like you said, we’ve known each other for _two_ _days_ and it feels like I have known you for a lifetime. I could stay here, I could find a job, I could—“

“But don’t you get it, Lou? You’re still running.”

Louis falls silent at that. He’d really like to deny it with all his heart, but… But the more Harry speaks, the more he realizes his situation.

“I don’t want to become your excuse to keep running away, Lou. Even if that’s not what you think I am, it’s what I’ll become,” Harry says quietly, and Louis feels sick.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice thick with tears he won’t let out. “You’re right, aren’t you?”

Harry just looks at him sadly. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Eleanor will drive you to the airport. You’ll get on that plane. You’ll go home, and you’ll clear things up. See your family and friends, explain what’s been happening, officially end it with Ryan. Get your life together, try to be happy, because I know you can fix things, Louis. I know. And if you still want to come back here after that, then… Come back.”

Harry doubts that Louis will come back, and Louis knows it. Instead of assuring him the opposite, he just nods. “Okay,” he says, tears welling up in his eyes but he just can’t bother with caring right now. “Okay,” and then he throws himself at Harry, holding him tightly and letting the tears stain his shirt. He curses himself in his mind, for getting so infatuated so quickly. Again.

Harry just closes his arms around him, pressing him tight so tight to his chest, and Louis could swear he feels something wet land in his hair, as well.

 

~

 

They spend the rest of the day alternating between crying, kissing, watching sappy movies and messily getting each other off in the living room sofa.

It’s a feeling of silent panic, these last hours together. They both know Louis will have to leave and that his departure is just coming closer and closer, and none of them knows how to handle it, but none of them says anything, either. Just keeps running fingers through each other’s hair and pressing kisses to each other’s skin, trying to push away the nausea that comes with the thoughts of separating.

Eleanor arrives at three, and when they hear her car stop outside, Louis asks against Harry’s skin, “Can’t you please come with me to the airport? I don’t want to leave you just yet.”

And sure, Harry should be at the flower shop and work, but he just can’t deny Louis anything today, so he closes the shop temporarily and gets into the car with Louis.

Eleanor is a bit surprised when he does, asking something quietly and Harry just shakes his head.

They’re holding hands the whole way there, leaning on each other, afraid that if they lose physical contact, Louis will disappear sooner.

Louis kisses Harry’s collarbone repeatedly, pressing his lips softly, softly against the skin. He can feel Harry’s shallow breathing, and closes his eyes.

They’re at the airport way too soon (it took like half an hour, but they’re still there way too soon), and Louis and Harry slowly get out of the car.

“So.” Louis swallows. “This is goodbye, then?”

Harry nods, and he pulls Louis into a hug. Louis melts into it instantly, and they’re just standing there for several seconds.

Harry is the one who pulls away first. He slowly reaches up to his flower crown, a new one with forget-me-nots and bluebells, and picks out a forget-me-not.

Their chests are still almost touching, and Harry hold up the flower between them. “Don’t forget me, yeah?”

And yeah, that’s definitely a tear running down Louis cheek as he takes the small flower. “I’d never,” he mumbles thickly.

Before he leaves, he pushes up on his tiptoes and kisses Harry sweetly. Harry leans into the kiss, hands cupping Louis cheeks. The kiss is wet and salty, and it’s still so close to perfection Louis just wants to cry out the Pacific Ocean.

And then Louis turns around, and hurries away from there, looking over his shoulder three times as Harry gets smaller and smaller the farther away he walks. He looks down and realizes he's still wearing Harry's shirt.

Fuck everything, honestly.

 

~

 

The first thing Zayn does, isn’t to punch him. It’s not to yell at him, or to even give him the silent treatment.

The first thing he does, is to hug him. And Louis is so shocked at first that he stumbles back with widened eyes, before wrapping his arms around his best friend in return.

“You’re so stupid, Lou,” he says, and yeah, Louis thinks, he is. “I’m glad you’re home.”

They get into the car as Zayn starts driving home.

After a few minutes of silence, Zayn says;

“So Harry seems like a nice guy.”

Louis flinches a bit at the sound of his name, but nods. “The nicest.”

“Everyone’s been going crazy here, you know? I mean, your mum almost had a heart attack when I told her, and everything I knew was that you’re going to France over New Year’s because Ryan cheated?”

“Not ‘because’,” Louis mumbles.

“If it wasn’t because he cheated, the guy must have pretty good timing.”

Louis sighs. “Has he talked to any of you?”

Zayn snorts. “Oh he’s tried, alright. But it’s mostly sickening stuff about how sorry he is and that he quote ‘never meant to hurt you’ unquote.”

“What an ass.”

“Yeah. Glad you found someone else. I mean, I only talked to him for about fifteen minutes and he woke me up eight in the morning, but apart from that… He cares so much about you, Lou.”

Louis nods weakly. “Yeah. Kind of wish he’d be a bit more selfish, though. I could’ve stayed.”

“Don’t say that. We all really want you home.”

“Well.”

Zayn drives straight to Louis’ family, and when Jay opens the door and sees her boy standing all pigeon-toed on her porch, Louis swears she almost has a stroke.

“You scared us all so much!” she exclaims and Louis can almost see tears in her eyes. “Oh I’m so sorry about Ryan, darling. You didn’t deserve this.”

Louis manages a smile. “I was gone for two days, mum. It’s okay. I’ve had the best time of my life.”

“You have to tell us all about it.”

And then all the girls comes stumbling, shouting and hugging him.

And Louis thinks that Harry probably knew what he was doing when he sent him home.

For the next hour, they’re all (including Zayn) sitting around the dinner table, listening as Louis talks about the enchanting Paris and the bright city lights and the café and the view from the Eiffel Tower. But most of all, he talks about the beautiful French florist with curly hair who wore flower crowns and let him stay at his flat during the days the was gone, and who had more passion shining in his eyes than Louis had ever seen in his life.

He hugs the little baby blue flower in his pocket. _Don’t forget me_.

 

~

 

When day number three arrives, Louis decides to talk to Ryan. Zayn and Niall had been with him all day for moral support and preparation, and now all he wants is to see him and put an end to this.

He opens the door to their flat, looking around at what is supposedly his home.

Then footsteps are heard, and Ryan is standing in front of him, mouth agape and eyes open wide.

“Lou,” he breathes. “You came back.”

He moves in for a hug, but Louis stops him with a sharp glance.

“Oh, I’m not here for that.”

Ryan’s shoulder sink and he looks ashamed. “Lou, about that…”

“I’m not here to hear your excuses either, Ryan. It’s pretty clear to me what was going on in there.”

“But it meant nothing—I love you, Lou.”

Louis smiles and shakes his head. “You looked pretty happy to me. I think you should go for it, actually. I mean, if he was someone you’d cheat on your boyfriend for three years with who you still claim to love, he must be pretty special, innit?”

Ryan shakes his head. “Louis, I wasn’t thinking, he—please forgive me, Louis, baby. Please.”

Louis thinks about it. “Yeah, okay. I forgive you.”

A hopeful glint is lightened in Ryan’s eyes at that. “Really? So we’re back together?”

Louis looks at him and smiles. “No.”

And after that, he pushes past him to their room, taking out a suitcase and starts emptying his wardrobe. There’s nothing Ryan can say to change his mind, and he must’ve realized it, too.

When the suitcase is as full as it gets, Louis walks out and leaves Ryan with a;

“I’ll get the rest of my stuff tomorrow. Baby.”

He’s out of the door and drives straight to Zayn’s, where he and Niall are waiting.

They listen, and gives him one well-deserved high five each after he’s told the story. They agree on that Louis is living with Niall until he finds his own flat, which he’ll start looking for tomorrow.

So yeah, things are starting to look up, Louis thinks. It’ll be okay.

 

~

 

A month passes.

Louis gets a hold of a nice little flat and he goes back to his work at the bookshop. His smile is a bit wider and his eyes a bit brighter, and he’s actually happy. He is.

He’s in Doncaster and he’s laughing with his friends and goes to parties and he’s happy. He barely ever sees Ryan anymore, but the one time he did, he was walking around town with the boy Louis had already seen once in their bed right before New Year’s.

They seem happy as well, though. So Louis smiles and is happy for them.

But there’s still something missing. Doncaster doesn’t light up like a thousand stars at night, and it doesn’t have all the bridges and cafés. It doesn’t have that little flower shop in the outskirts of town. It’s too quiet in Louis’ little flat, and it doesn’t smell like roses and cinnamon, and Louis hasn’t seen or heard from Harry in a month.

And yeah, Louis is well aware of what’s missing. He’s happy where he’s living in Doncaster with his friends and family and people he’s known all his life.

But Doncaster isn’t Paris, is the thing. And Harry isn’t here.

The forget-me-not has been hanging slack and lifeless in the tiny egg cup Louis used as a vase for about a week now, and Louis’ chest hurts a little every now and then because Harry should be here with him, right? And his friends have all tried, too, introducing friends of their friends to Louis, or take him out to the club to at least get laid, but Louis can’t let Harry go.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone when he gathers his friends together in his flat and simply tells them “I’m moving to Paris.”

Zayn hugs him and tells him he’ll be missed, and after that Niall does to, and Stan, and Greg. And then they’re standing there in one big pathetic group hug and Louis promises he’ll come and visit soon, and that he’ll bring Harry with him.

Jay cries, but she asks him “you really love this boy, don’t you?” and Louis does, he does. He tells her so, and hell, all Jay ever wanted was for her son to be happy. Even if it means he’ll move to a different country.

So Louis packs clothes and a few personal stuff, and the money he never cared to change back. Niall and Zayn are promising to try and sell the flat as soon as Louis tells them it’s okay.

A tiny part of him is scared shitless, because what if Harry has moved on? What if he doesn’t feel a thing anymore, he could be living happily with Nick for all Louis knows.

But he pushes away those thoughts.

Harry loves him, right?

Right.

And Louis was going to turn up at the flower shop and they were going to share a very passionate embrace. Like in the movies.

 

~

Louis is standing in front of the oh so familiar door to the little flower shop. His heart is thumping loudly in his chest, because he’s so close. On the other side of the door, Harry will be, and it’s been so long since they saw each other.

He takes a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. He can do this.

Louis pushes the door open, bell jingling over his head just like the first time. He’s so nervous he could throw up his lunch.

He hears light steps walking towards the door, and a familiar girl with brown, wavy hair is approaching him.

“Bonjour monsieur, que—“

Eleanor stops dead in her tracks as she realizes who is standing in front of her. Louis worries her eyes are going to pop out of her skull, she’s staring so intensely. Louis waves half-heartedly.

And then, slowly, the corners of her mouth are perking up into a smile. A smile that then turns into a grin, and she jumps into his arms, hugging him tightly and quickly.

“He’s been missing you,” she whispers, and Louis heart flutters. “Harry!” Eleanor calls then, still with the same grin and turns around to get him.

Louis hears Harry’s voice and fuck, he’d almost forgotten how deep it was. He hears Eleanor say something to him and Louis can practically _hear_ her smug facial expression.

Harry sighs, and there’s a sound of a chair creaking as he gets up from his seat and _shitshitshit_ , Louis is barely prepared for this.

He tries to keep it cool though, and tries very hard not to pass out as the steps are coming closer.

“Est-ce que je pourrais vous—“Harry starts, and Louis looks up and straight into his emerald eyes.

He swears Harry’s breath stops as he slowly takes in Louis’ appearance, trying to understand what’s happening, and yes, Louis is very close to passing out now.

He won’t, though. Instead he smiles sheepishly.

“Yeah, there is something, actually. I read somewhere that if you give away 999 roses to someone, it means ‘everlasting and eternal love’. Is that true, and if so, where could you get that many roses?”

And Harry smiles so widely it looks like he might break in half, slowly walking closer. “Tricky question,” he says, faking a thoughtful look. “It depends on how quickly you need them.”

“Today, preferably. I need them for the big reunion with my boy. I have been away from him for a whole month, you see.”

As soon as the words leaves his mouth, Harry is throwing his arms around Louis and lifting him up, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Harry twirls him around, burying his face in his neck. “You came back,” he laughs. “You came back, I thought you’d never—“

“Haz—can’t breathe,” Louis squeals and Harry puts him down with a grin. “Well, the forget-me-not died a little while ago, so I figured I had to do something about it once and for all,” he explains when the oxygen is running normally through his lungs again.

“So you’re staying here now? You’re really staying with me?” Harry asks, and Louis had never heard anything sweeter than those words.

“I’m staying with you,” he confirms.

So Harry smiles and leans down to smash their lips together, hands quickly sliding down and locking around his waist, holding Louis close so close. Louis is not late with responding, tangling his fingers into Harry’s messy curls, reaching out for the flower crown and lightly putting it on his own head without breaking the kiss. Harry bites down on Louis’ lower lip, sending shivers down his spine and he moans. Harry smells like newly cut grass and watered roses and he tastes like honey and sunshine and he feels like home.

“Boys,” a voice is heard behind them. “No sex in the flower shop.”

Louis laughs into Harry’s mouth and pulls away. Eleanor is evidently trying to looks serious, but the corners of her mouth twitches.

“Welcome home, Louis,” she says, and Louis grins.

“Yes,” Harry mumbles and pecks his lips again. “Welcome home, Louis."


End file.
